Tell me, Master
by Mikha
Summary: Two weeks after Arya leaves Ellesmera, Eragon and Oromis have a talk.


Sitting outside the cottage that day seemed quite unbearable. It was hot, and the continuous buzzing in Eragon's head, product in part of his refined hearing, kept him distracted most of the time. He could hear Oromis talking, and registered half of what he was saying. He could also hear his connection with Saphira, and he registered only part of that, too.

His thoughts were elsewhere.

It had been nearly two weeks since Arya had left, and the void she had left in him was not showing any signs of filling up. Not even the new secrets of magic Oromis revealed to him every day were able to keep him from thinking too much about her.

No. He could not just forget about her. He couldn't just…

"Eragon?" Oromis's voice seemed rather strict, which surprised him.

"Yes, master?" he looked up.

"At last," the elf said, looking at him severely. "I was starting to wonder if you were still sitting here or not. I am sure whatever Saphira and Glaedr are doing is not what is holding your attention at the moment, and neither am I."

"I apologize, master."

"You should pay more attention, Eragon. Our time is limited, and you have much to learn. You can't waste a single hour."

"I know that, I'm sorry. I was distracted, it will not happen again."

Oromis raised an eyebrow.

"Please repeat the lesson I have been just teaching you."

"Yes, master."

With much effort, and Saphira's help, he was able to recall a large part of it, but not enough to satisfy Oromis. The elf looked disappointed, which was, in Eragon's head, worse than his looking severe. At least in his anger, Oromis implied he still had some hope. With disappointment, it was as if he had already given up on him.

"Concentrate, Eragon!" he stood up. "I cannot make a rider out of you, if you are pondering on how little birds come to be!"

"I already know that, master…"

He had gone too far with that, he knew, and it became obvious when Oromis's face coloured. For a moment, Eragon feared he was about to be struck down with some powerful spell, for his master looked every bit capable and willing to do so, but all he got was a glare.

"I really am disappointed in you, Eragon. I expected better from you. Off you go. If you can't concentrate, there is no use in me teaching you anything. Come back when you are willing to cooperate."

"Master…"

"Be gone, Eragon. Don't make me tell you again!"

With a quick reverence, Eragon ran away as fast as he could. He was upset, upset with himself, and upset with Oromis for treating him as such. He knew it was his own fault, of course, but perhaps he did not deserve that treatment. It wasn't as if he had not paid any attention. He just had… forgotten a few bits of the lesson!

He sighed, knowing full well that he was just making excuses. Oromis was right in sending him away.

_Need to vent?_ Saphira asked, just before she appeared above him. _You were very distracted today; by what, I do not know, you blocked me out._

_I'm sorry, Saphira… It's just…_

_Arya._

He said nothing else. Saphira understood what he was feeling, and she did not inquire further. Instead, she just flew on, as he ran, until they reached their dwelling. It was still so early… shortly after noon, that he had no idea what to do with his time. Should he go to the training grounds in search for Vanir? He could have, but he doubted he'd concentrate well enough.

Should he go look for Orik?

_He's with Rhunön today,_ Saphria reminded him. _They were going to discuss techniques to produce strong armour._

_Ah, that's right._

So Orik was out of the question, too.

_What's wrong, little one?_

She curled up around him on her bedding, letting him lean against her chest. She felt very protective of him at the moment, he could feel as much, and he appreciated it. He felt safer in no other place than near her, and knew it would be that way for the rest of his life. Since the moment he had first laid eyes on her as she hatched, he knew his world had turned over.

Much like he had known when he first saw Arya in his dreams, though, then, he had not understood just how much.

It had taken him time to realize what she meant for him. It had taken him time to realize that she was much more than a fellow warrior. As inaccessible as she was, she had somehow found her way into his heart, without him being aware of it, until it was too late.

Too late.

Because, no matter what she told him, no matter how many times she told him that things could not work between them, he refused to believe her. What were a hundred years, when he could have lived forever? With time, he would gain the experience and wisdom she pointed out he lacked, and then, why would he not deserve her?

Why couldn't he…?

His thoughts were interrupted by the silence that surrounded him. It was not an actual silence, for Saphira was humming a ballad deep in her chest, keeping her eyes closed, but she was not talking to him. She was not analysing his thoughts with him. She had no comments.

_Saphira?_ he asked, troubled.

_Yes, little one?_ She continued humming.

_Any thoughts? Any theories? Anything that might help?_

_If I had any words of comfort for you, I would give them to you. As it happens, though, I have none. Unfortunately, I'm as inexperienced in love as you are._

_We are two of a kind, aren't we? Both blatantly rejected by those we love?_

_And neither able to let go of our feelings._

_At least you're able to keep your mouth shut… unlike me. At least Glaedr still wants to be your friend._

_She might come around, you know? Once you apologize._

Eragon remained quiet.

_You will apologize, won't you?_

_Of course I will, _he sighed at last. _I'd rather have her as a friend, or at least talking to me, than as nothing at all. It hurts... It hurts to think of how we once were, and then to think of her words as she left… as if… as if I meant nothing to her._

_I'm sure that's not the case, little one._

He wished, more than actually believed, her words to be true.

***

The setting sun surprised him. As the light fell deep enough to go through the window and hit his face, he opened his eyes, and realized he had fallen into his trance-like state, and had lost most of his contact with the outside world. He sat up hastily, as Saphira opened one eye to look at him.

_Are you alright?_ she asked him.

_I think so._

He looked around the room for a moment, then grabbed a ballad he had been studying the past few nights, and climbed down the stairs. Saphira quickly followed him through the hole in the wall, landing in front of him, as he tied his boots securely.

_Where are you going?_

_Cliffs of Tel'naéir._

_At this hour? To do what?_

_That which I seem to have to do a lot._

She understood, and leaned down so he could climb on her. When he was ready, she lifted her wings and took to the skies, flying at a pleasant speed for him, admiring the changing shades of green on the leaves of the trees as the red sun sank in the horizon.

_No place in the world more beautiful than Ellesméra._

_It's beautiful, _Saphira agreed_, but I believe we have yet to see many other places before I make my conclusions on the subject._

Eragon chuckled.

_You are right._

They flew for some minutes until they reached the cliffs. It was quiet, and darker at the bottom, the lights in Oromis's cabin already on. They had not yet landed when the door opened, the elf at the threshold, and Glaedr walking from around the house. They were both looking at them.

Dismounting quickly, Eragon rushed towards Oromis and knelt in front of him, his head bowed. Contrition was clear in his manner and in his thoughts, so Oromis could have no doubt he was sincere. Saphira was doing a reverence of her own.

"Good evening, Eragon," Oromis said pleasantly.

"Good evening, master," he said. "I have come to apologize for my earlier behaviour."

"You apologized for it already, if I recall correctly."

"I did, but now I've time to ponder about my thoughts, and realize how very wrong I was. I ask for your forgiveness. It will not happen again."

"You are forgiven. And I do expect it doesn't happen again. Now rise, and tell me, what have you brought?"

"Your epic poem on Tiriandon, the hero from Osilon. I have finished reading it, so I am returning it to you."

Oromis nodded, extending his hand for it, so Eragon passed it over. He then kept his eyes on him for a while, as if analysing him. Minutes went by in this manner, until, at last, the elf nodded.

"Shall we sit outside and discuss it?" he said, and looked towards the house.

"If it would please you, master."

"It would. If you could get the small table and chairs, I shall brew us some tea."

Eragon did as he was told at once. When Oromis returned a few minutes later, and they sat, Glaedr and Saphira curled around the table, as sentinels to their riders. Both kept their eyes closed.

"How did you find the poem?" Oromis asked, picking up his cup and then taking a sip.

"I found it quite mesmerizing mostly, though there were parts I found rather dull."

"Do you agree with Tiriandon's actions?"

"Not all the time. "

"Hm?" Oromis looked over his cup, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well," Eragon felt his ears colouring, as they always did when he wasn't sure he was saying something wrong. "I think sometimes he put his own priorities before the bigger picture… which tends to put those around him in danger."

"Well observed."

"At last, I think he realized his mistake and managed to fix part of it and save the city, but the damage had already been done. There were things which he could not change, and would have been better, had they not happened at all."

"For example?"

"Rhiane's death."

Oromis took another sip, and then observed the trees before turning back to Eragon. Again, he seemed to be examining him deeper than his skin.

"You are right, Eragon. Tiriandon is a very flawed hero. He achieved the goal, but at a very dear prize to him and those he loved. He was on the brink of losing, because of selfishness. You have understood the story well."

Eragon simply nodded, not sure what he should say.

"Do you know why I asked you to read this story?"

The truth was, he didn't. The question had caught him off guard, and it made him think quickly. But there was no easy answer. He had thought of the story just as 'one more' of those Oromis asked him to read continuously, and had never read anything else into it.

The minutes passed slowly, as Eragon searched for an answer. Once in a while, he looked at Oromis, who alternated between looking at him and drinking more tea, but kept his thoughts to himself.

After failing earlier that afternoon, the last thing Eragon wanted was to fail again, and so he thought harder. He analysed the poem in his head quickly, deepening only in the important parts. He thought of how the metric affected the way it was written, but soon discarded that, aware that the meaning was what Oromis was after, not the structure.

The sun set completely, slowly leaving them in total darkness, except for the lights coming from inside the house, and yet, Eragon still had no answer. He noticed Glaedr lighting a torch that hung from the outer wall, which illuminated the small table very well, but that was the only dramatic movement.

At length, Oromis went inside, to brew more tea, Eragon assumed, but he still had no answer. His master took his time, at last returning with a tray, which contained the tea pot, two plates with bread, and a smaller dish with margarine. He placed that in between the two, and sat down again.

_It's a good thing he's patient,_ Eragon told Saphira. _Looks like we'll be here for a while._

_You still don't know?_

_What, do you?_

_I think it's fairly obvious._

_But you won't tell me, am I right?_

_You are._

He had not expected her to tell him, but knowing it was obvious to her, he realized the answer had to be very much straight forward. He made himself think about Tiriandor's actions, over and over, how he had put his mission in jeopardy for selfish wishes. How he had almost lost the battle, and, ultimately, how he had redeemed himself.

Oromis was into his third slice of bread when Eragon finally understood. His eyes widened, and he didn't know whether he should feel outraged or grateful. With a mixture of feelings he turned to his master.

"You understand, I see," Oromis said, offering him a slice with margarine already spread on it.

"I think I do." He took the bread, and took a bite, chewing thoroughly as he reordered his thoughts before speaking. "It is a lesson to learn, not to make his mistakes. You wanted me to see what losing sight of the goal… choosing the wrong priorities… can do, and how wrong things can go because of that."

"You understand well."

"Have I failed you, master?" he asked, not able to hold himself.

"Failed me how?"

"Have I let my selfish wishes…?" He knew the answer, and he did not need Oromis to tell him that. And he knew his master knew, as well, for he kept quiet. "I have…

"You are young," Oromis said, refilling his cup, "and in our youth, we do things we then look back at with some regret. That is no excuse, of course. I gave you the text, so you could see the effects of choosing the wrong path, or choosing the right path for the wrong reasons. I wanted you to understand the danger of straying before you returned to the battlefield. You cannot afford to make mistakes, but even I know that it is less consequential if you make those mistakes here, than when you are facing Galbatorix and his army."

"I understand, master. I will do my best."

"I trust you will, Eragon-finiarel."

They finished their meal in silence, with only the harmonic humming of the two dragons to serenade them. Eragon felt still torn between his positive and negative feelings. He was grateful for Oromis teaching him that lesson, but was sad that it had been necessary. If only he could control his emotions better…

He had shown time and again how his own wishes got in the way of the bigger picture. Picture… just Arya's fairth had been proof enough… His own distraction that day… unpardonable. He was letting the whole of Alagaësia down.

When the last of the bread and the tea had been consumed, Eragon helped Oromis clean the dishes with sand. He was about to put the table and chairs back inside, but Oromis stopped him, motioning to sit down again.

"One more thing, Eragon," he said, leaning back against the backrest. "Before you go tonight, I think there is another issue we should address."

"Master?"

"And I hope that we do not need to address it again."

It sounded serious. So serious, in fact, that even Saphira lifted her head.

_I don't like the sound of that,_ she said.

_Have we done something else wrong?_ Eragon wondered.

_I can't think of anything._

"Your heart, Eragon," Oromis proceeded, but his tone softened a bit.

"My heart, master?"

"Yes. We need to talk about your heart, and how you do not seem to have it in you anymore. I assume that is what is causing all the trouble, and what had you distracted this afternoon. You were thinking about Arya."

"I was…" he was embarrassed to admit it.

"I understand you expressed your feelings through the fairth, and that it put a damp in your relationship. It seemed to me, as though it was improving. Did you part on bad terms?"

"The worst," his humiliation knew no limits. "I had just managed to regain her friendship, when I lost it again. Perhaps for good, this time."

Oromis nodded.

"You expressed your feelings for her again?"

"Out loud. I told her I'd do anything to have her love me back."

"And she did not take it well."

"At all."

The elf nodded again, and then fell quiet. Just as Eragon was wondering whether the conversation was over or not, Oromis looked up at him again, his gaze fixed on his.

"She does not return your feelings."

"No, master."

"And she has broken up her friendship with you."

"Yes, master."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Apologize, as soon as I see her again. I will ask for forgiveness, put myself at her mercy, if I have to."

"You are quite determined."

"I cannot lose her friendship."

"I assume not." He was quiet again. Then: "By all means, renew the friendship if you can, but respect where she stands regards to your feelings for her. We elves do not take well to impositions, especially after we have made clear something displeases us."

"I will, master. I will respect it, and no other words shall come out of my mouth."

"Good." Oromis stood up, and made to pick up his chair, but did not lift it. He put his hands over the backrest, and stayed still as he had one of his episodes. It lasted very little, but Eragon was at his side in no time, ready to support him, should he need it. "Thank you, Eragon. I am well. Be sure that I am not asking you to give up your feelings. I would be a fool to ask that of you, or anyone. Feelings such as those you have may prove one day to be what tips the balance in your favour, just as they may be a liability. Store them as you would vital information, but do not be overwhelmed by them."

Eragon looked perplexed.

"It seems impossible to you now," Oromis smiled, "but in time you will understand what I mean. By all means, let your heart flutter at the sight of her; let your feelings for her fill you, but do not let them distract you from your main purpose. Love flourishes in the most unexpected places, at the most unexpected times, but not everyone can enjoy it without sacrificing more than they can afford to."

"She said…" Eragon looked down, his ears turning red again. "She said I should look for someone my own age… grow old with her."

"Do you wish for that?"

"No, master. My heart only calls for her."

"Then I suggest you do not trouble yourself with that. Concentrate on the task at hand, and the chances of failing will be slim. Treasure your feelings, but keep them where they cannot hurt you, nor those around you. Do not make Tiriandor's mistakes."

"Thank you for the advice, master."

"I was young once, too."

Eragon would have liked to ask what that meant, but Oromis had another attack, this one more severe than the previous one, so he could ask no more. Instead, he helped the elf back into the cabin, and into bed, and then put the chairs and table back inside.

"I will see you tomorrow morning, Eragon-finiarel," Oromis said, closing his eyes.

"I will not disappoint you," Eragon whispered from the door.

"I know…"

Taking their leave from Glaedr, they flew back to the tree house.

***

It was still shy of morning when Eragon opened his eyes. He was, once again, curled between Saphira's arms, refusing the bed for the comfort of her softer scales.

_Do you think he had someone he loved?_ he asked Saphira, who took a deep breath, releasing two puffs of smoke from her nostrils. _I mean, he seems to know about the comings and goings of being in love…_

_He probably did. There is much we do not know about him. About them._

_Maybe his being the Mourning Sage is tied to his youth, a mistake he made in his past. One he could not correct…_

_Could be, little one. He seems to bear a sorrow beyond that of his disability and the fall of his comrades._

_Do you think he'll tell us about it some day?_

_Probably not._

_No, you are right. Probably not. Still, I'd like to hear about it._

_So would I. Well, I am glad he had that talk with you. You were in bad need of advice I, nor anyone around here, could give you._

_The kind of advice a father would give his son. I wonder if my father was like Oromis at all._

_Perhaps not. _Saphira meditated. Then: _Or maybe just a little bit._

_Maybe one day, when I find out who he is, I'll know. I hope he is a good man._

_I'm sure of it, little one. I'm sure of it._

_How can you be so sure? _

_Call it my dragon-sense._

She chuckled, and covered him with her wing again, lulling him to sleep once more. Morning would come soon enough.


End file.
